“I’ll be in touch,” the old man said as she grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
“No, really. Please let it go.” There was an edge of desperation in her voice. “If you want the designs, they’re yours. I’ll leave them at the Lansing Agency. You make whatever arrangements you want with them.”
“You don’t want the job?”
Dana thought of what it would mean to her to be hired by the small, prestigious agency. She compared that to one more second in the presence of the disconcerting, manipulating Halloran men. “No,” she said firmly. “I do not want the job, not if it means seeing that man again.” She glared in the direction Jason had gone in case there was any doubt about which man she’d meant.
Even that seemed to bring a smile to Brandon Halloran’s lips. Why did she have this terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach that he was likely to have the last word?
* * *
“Ms. Roberts? John Lansing. Congratulations!”
Dana sank down on the stool in front of her design table. “Congratulations,” she repeated weakly. “For what?”
“Halloran Industries wants the logo design. The job is yours.”
Where was the sense of elation? The satisfaction? All she felt was panic.
“I don’t think so,” she said, forcing herself not to think about the opportunity she was giving up. The future. The money. Was she every bit as crazy as Brandon Halloran and his grandson?
Her response was greeted by silence, then, “I don’t understand. You don’t want the job? Is it the salary? Have you had a better offer? I’m sure I can come up with a deal that will match anything anyone else in town is likely to give you.”
“It’s not the money,” she said, practically choking on the words.
“What then?”
“I just don’t think I’m cut out for that sort of work,” she lied.
“Of course you are. I can’t tell you how impressed Brandon Halloran is with you.”
“I’m sure,” she muttered.
“I hate to pressure you, Ms. Roberts, but the truth of the matter is, Brandon wants you on this account very badly,” he said. Then he added the clincher: “If you don’t agree to join the Lansing Agency, we could lose Halloran Industries.”
Dana gasped as she recognized Brandon Halloran’s trump card. The man intended to lay a monumental guilt trip on her. “That’s ridiculous,” she said. “You’ve had that account forever.”
“It’s a cutthroat business and it all turns on the quality of the campaign. Brandon Halloran insists he’ll take his business to whichever agency you do join. It’s as simple as that.”
“The man is nuts,” she said with feeling. “He is certifiably nuts. A fruitcake! Loony tunes!”
“He’s one of the smartest businessmen I’ve ever met and he drives one helluva bargain. He wants you on this account. I want you on this account.”
“Why me?” she said, but she already knew the answer and it had nothing to do with her designs. Brandon Halloran had handpicked her for that ill-tempered grandson of his. She was sure he hadn’t told John Lansing that.
“Maybe I could talk him out of it,” she said. Thinking of the stubborn, determined glint she’d seen in his eyes, though, she doubted he’d listen to reason.
“Wouldn’t it just be simpler to accept my offer?” Lansing suggested.
Simpler, maybe, Dana agreed. Then images of Jason Halloran popped up. Disconcerting images, the kind that made a woman’s pulse race even against her own will. Sure it would be simpler to say yes, but wiser? No way. She and Jason Halloran were like oil and water—they just weren’t destined to mix. One or the other of them was always likely to be clinging to a last shred of sanity.
“It’s the chance of a lifetime,” Lansing reminded her.
Dana sighed. “I’ll think about it,” she promised as a compromise when she couldn’t seem to manage a flat-out no a second time.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he responded. “I’m looking forward to your decision,” he said, suddenly sounding every bit as confident as Brandon Halloran that things were going to go his way.
Dana wasted nearly half an hour trying to finish the design she was doing for the next event at the bookstore. Unfortunately all of the children she drew surrounding a storyteller looked like pint-sized versions of Jason Halloran.
He was the crux of the problem, she admitted, not his grandfather. Brandon might be a manipulating, conniving sneak, but her relationship with Jason was the real issue. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot and things had gone from bad to worse.
Leaving Brandon’s scheming aside, maybe if she went to Jason, told him how important this job was to her, maybe they could find some way to get along. Barring that, maybe they could simply agree to avoid each other. That was, after all, what he’d said he wanted—rather emphatically, as she recalled. Although it was beyond her imagination to come up with a way for a designer to stay out of the path of the head of marketing, she was desperate enough to try anything at this point. At least she could almost guarantee that their paths would never cross outside the office.
She looked up the number for Halloran Industries and called before she could change her mind.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Halloran has left for the day,” his secretary said.
Dana glanced at her watch. “At four-thirty?”
“Yes,” she said, her disapproval evident. “May I tell him who called?”
“It’s Dana Roberts. I don’t suppose you know where I could find him?”
“You might try Washington’s Tavern.”
Dana nearly groaned. The bartender would probably run her off on sight. “Thanks. I’ll try to catch up with him there,” she said.
Why did she have this terrible feeling that returning to the scene of their original encounter did not bode well for putting their relationship on an improved footing?
* * *
Jason was on
